


not meant for him

by SalazarTipton



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon Compliant, Canon Disabled Character, M/M, One Shot, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, s1e01, weird mix of au plus coda??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-15 06:23:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17523545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SalazarTipton/pseuds/SalazarTipton
Summary: It helps Michael remember that he’s not one of these people. There’s no other-half waiting for the right moment to happen. There’s just himself staring up at the stars always waiting for something that’s never going to come. And he’s fine with all that, really.





	not meant for him

**Author's Note:**

> i can't get over these two and want to write all the tropes for them. this is my first time publishing any of my roswell stuff, so i'd love to know what you think! [warning, wrote this in one sitting without a beta]

Michael never puts any thought into the whole soulmates thing. That’s something humans spend their lives dreaming of--that there’s somebody (or several somebodies in rarer cases) that click with them perfectly. Most of the time, he’s felt lucky that he doesn’t have to waste away wondering who his soulmate could be. That’s an Earth thing, right? There’s no way that Fate or whatever the hell dictated these soulbonds in the first place would take a misplaced and forgotten alien into the works. 

On one hand, it is freeing. There’s no impending doom of someone being close enough to him to find out his secret and compromise everything he, Isobel, and Max have. He’s always been private so no one would question his lack of a soulmate. Some people don’t talk about their mates. Some don’t drop everything to make a life with the other person when their Mark forms. Of all the things Michael lies about in his life, this is the easiest. 

It helps him remember that he’s not one of these people. Max and Isobel blend in and have poured themselves into making their lives here in Roswell, but he doesn’t do himself the disservice of letting the lies convince him he belongs here. There’s no other-half waiting for the right moment to happen. There’s just himself staring up at the stars always waiting for something that’s never going to come. And he’s fine with all that, really. 

He only ever made the mistake to get close to someone and let himself hope once, but that was years ago back when he was just a dumb kid with way too many crazy ideas. Some of those nights they used to spend out in the desert in Michael’s truck bed, looking up at the sky, he would let himself fantasize about what they could be if he wasn’t what he was. It fell apart when Alex headed off to war. That’s not quite right, he muses to himself. They were doomed from the start. Even without the difference in species and secrets, Michael would always stay in Roswell while Alex couldn’t stand the town. 

After the train wreck of his heart healed enough to get by, Michael let go of all those nights and fantasies. He managed to keep them out of sight and out of mind, for the most part. Any drunken nights where Maria had to help him get to bed or use her shoulder don’t count...not really. It’s all fine, Michael convinces himself, right up until no one other than the man himself is standing at his trailer in uniform standing tall with the might of the Air Force behind him.

“Alex...back from Baghdad. Father must be proud--finally a really Manes man,” Michael grits out, trying to ignore the unidentifiable tightness building up in his chest and throat. 

The uniform shouldn’t make him look so good. Michael’s never been able to stand the Establishment or the military--especially knowing what little he does about their hands in the crash and alien hunters. Dealing with Max joining the Sheriff’s department was hard on all of them. Seeing Alex like this should send his blood boiling, but all it does is make his heart soften. 

“Three-quarters of one,” Alex says, bending down to knock on his prosthetic. Michael’s heart falls. Knowing that he ran from this place as fast as he could they way his father wanted and it took so much from him makes Michael want to reach out and do anything to take away some of that strain so clear in his expression. “What are you doing in this trailer? It sure as hell doesn’t look legal,” He quickly changes the subject back to his business here.

“A little weed,  _ lots  _ of casual sex...oh, and covert plans to violently overthrow the government,” he can’t help himself but to jab a little at him as his chest goes from soft to aching. “Quick, Alex. Go and tell your daddy.”

Michael steps past him before he can reply and shuts himself away in his trailer. He checks the door’s lock twice before letting his bravado fall. His brow pinches together as he breathes through the ache in his heart and the stinging in his eyes. He doesn’t have time for this, he berates himself. He glances at his research into the crash and everything he knows about his home. He pushes it to the side so he can lean against the table on his palms, hanging his head. 

The military is right outside of his door, but he can’t bring himself to care. Alex Manes blowing back into his life shouldn’t be having this affect on him. He thought these days were long past him. He squeezes his eyes shut. On the back of his right palm just above his thumb, a small burning starts up. Michael rubs at it absentmindedly, too focus on his world crashing down between Max’s idiotic, selfish bullshit and his ex outside his door. 

* * *

All night Michael’s been trying to forget about earlier. Tonight is supposed to be about supporting Isobel and her perfectly coordinated reunion. His hand feels uncomfortable, but he tries to ignore it. Must just be the dry air or something, he convinces himself as he chats up one of his classmates that fled after graduation like so many others.

She’s saying something about her job in Albuquerque, but her words grow muffled. Michael blinks and tries to focus, but his attention is pulled away from her. He glances to his left and spots Alex on his way over. She stops her sentence and excuses herself when she sees the determined look on his face.  

“You cooking meth?”

“Yeah, absolutely!” Michael says with his words dripping snippy sarcasm. 

“I’m serious. My chemical engineers found high levels of phenyl 2 propanone around your air stream.”

“It’s not P2P they’re detecting,” Michael scoffs and tries to walk away from this conversation, but Alex moves to block his path. He can’t help but to let his eyes flick down to Alex’s lips before continuing on. “It’s similar. You should find yourself some better engineers.”

In a quick movement Michael wasn’t expecting, Alex pulls him in by his arm in a tight grip. His hand flares up in warmth when it knocks against Alex’s hip. “You are wasting your life, Guerin.” The words ghost over his ear and leave goosebumps in their wake. He doesn’t waste time considering his response. No matter what Alex has already got an idea of who Michael is. No need pandering.

“You tryin’ to hold my hand, Private?” Michael jokes with a harsh smirk and tilts his head to see him better.

“Does the macho cowboy swagger thing ever get old with you?” If Michael didn’t know any better, he might think there’s something lingering in his tone. This time he doesn’t hold himself back. He let’s the hurt in his chest cut into his next decision. 

“Did it get old for you?” Michael bites back. He pushes away from him and this time, Alex let’s him walk away with just a moment of his hand lingering on his arm. 

Michael walks back over to the woman he was talking to before and glances down at his hand. In the space between his thumb and forefinger on the back of his palm is the faint outline of something. He can’t make out what it looks like. He swallows against the knot rising up in his throat. 

“Hey, are you--” she starts, cutting herself off when she sees what he’s looking at. “Holy shit! Go after him!”

* * *

Michael stops in the doorway of the back storage area of the stage, gently caressing his fingers over the darkening Mark. In the time it’s taken him to find Alex, it’s become clear enough to make out one of the pictographs on the artifact back in his trailer--one he’s dreamed of his whole life--mixed in with music notes. He looks away from it towards his soulmate.

“Nostalgia's a bitch, huh?” he says easily. Somehow the turmoil that’s been weighing on his chest falls away into a steadiness and determination. He steps into the space, towards Alex.

He finishes pulling down his pant leg. Alex stops for a second, looking at his own hand, and turns to face him. 

“I thought for sure when I got back from Iraq you would be long gone,” Alex says with a shake of his head. 

“Is that what you want?” Michael asks already knowing the answer and looks straight into Alex’s eyes.

“We’re not kids anymore,” Alex says without much feeling behind the words. He takes a step towards him, showing his bluff. “What I want doesn’t matter.” 

He might not have been meant for the world of humans and soulmates, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to let it go to waste. If Fate messed up with him, he’s not going to correct it. He’s much rather live it up to the fullest, in his own way. Michael closes the distance between them. 

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> please let me know what you think in the comments!!  
> come find me over on [tumblr](http://bialiencowboy.tumblr.com/)


End file.
